Scar Farce
by Marpessa
Summary: Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny narrate the funny explanations and ludicrous stories they tell Muggles to explain Harry's unusual lightning bolt scar. Just a silly idea with short, easy chapters. Nice if you're interested in "a bit of light reading" :P.
1. Prologue: Justification

**Prologue: Justification**

Harry: Let me just say that absolutely any guy in the world, wizard or Muggle, would ham up a scar. It's only natural. And is it my fault that I can't help but exaggerate a little bit when Muggles ask me about the lightning bolt on my forehead? I mean, they're the only people that _don't_ know the real story. Everyone in the magical world already knows.

Ron: And where's the fun in that? Seriously, this is too hilarious. Sometimes Harry or Hermione have to put a silencing charm on me just so I won't burst out in laughter and ruin the whole thing.

Harry: Snot came out of his nose once because he was laughing so hard and couldn't open his mouth. It was all welling up inside him. Something had to come out somewhere, I s'pose.

Ron: Ha, that was great. Bogies everywhere.

Hermione: Childish, idiotic- some people never grow up. Not that I expected either of them to grow up, really, but honestly. I expected a _little_ more care on the part of an Auror at least, Harry. Well, Ron's an Auror as well, but… ugh.

Ron: It's a bloke thing. You could not possibly understand.

Ginny: Hermione, you know you're just trying to seem responsible. You've involved yourself in Harry's little scar escapades on more than one occasion, if my memory serves me correctly.

Hermione: This is ridiculous!

Ron: Why can't she just have a bit of fun for once, really? She's all in the moment when things are happening, but she tries to deny it all later on.

Harry: You would know, ey, Ron?

Hermione: Get on with your stupid stories, Harry.


	2. Chapter 1: Harry the Doctor

**Chapter 1: Harry the Doctor**

So, as much as we try to avoid it, sometimes Ron and I have to indulge Hermione's Muggle tendencies. Mind you, I have Muggle tendencies as well, but I have probably 3% interest in Muggle books. I don't even know what that 3% would be, because I have about 3% interest in _any_ books, but oh well. It sounded good.

Hermione loves books, of course, and this doesn't cease at books available in the magical realm. Can you imagine things like _The Origin of Species_ and _The Merchant of Venice _in Flourish and Blotts? Anyone that tried to check them out would be laughed right out of the place.

Every now and then Ron and I agree to go to the Muggle bookstore with Hermione. Of course she doesn't need us to go with her- she's gone on her own plenty of times. But she has this annoying must-be-around-Ron complex (I guess I understand, but it's still aggravating if we want to ride our brooms or something. He either doesn't go or has a screaming Hermione clinging to him for dear life. Kind of kills the whole thing). So we humor her every now and then by going with her.

One time when we went -and Ron _still_ laughs about this from time to time- the cashier kept glancing at my scar. She was pretty casual about it, so casual that I didn't even notice. Ron did though.

"Want to know how he got it?" he asked her with this mischievous, goofy half-smile thing on his face. Hermione rolled her eyes and slammed her bag full of books onto the counter.

"Uh, sure," the cashier replied, with a wary sideways glace towards Hermione.

"Well, you've heard of eclektricity, I'm sure?" Ron asked her. Hermione groaned and covered her face with her hands.

"Electricity?" the cashier clarified.

"Right, electrikticy. Well, there are those… things that you put into the other things to make things turn on, as you may well be aware."

"Oh for Merlin's sake, Ronald, could you be more exact?" Hermione snapped angrily at him. The cashier lady had laughed when Hermione had said "Merlin," and had earned herself Hermione's distaste and thus involvement in Ron's little scheme.

Ron's attempt to sound intelligent and completely in-the-know was, for me, pretty adorable. Hermione disagreed.

"He's talking about plugs and sockets of course. You'll have to excuse him. He doesn't know much english," Hermione clarified. Her all-too-sweet smile was probably quite reassuring to the cashier, but Ron and I knew her well enough to see the fury behind her eyes.

The cashier mumbled something to the effect of, "Sounds like a perfectly good accent to me," to which Hermione tersely replied with, "Mhmm" and a face so froggy that Umbridge would be jealous.

"Anyway," I said to break the uncomfortable silence. The cashier jumped at the sudden sound.

"Yes, well, those long things that connect the elektric thing and the… the socket together—"

"—Cords," I interjected before Hermione's head exploded.

"Yes, of course, cords. Well, during a… a…" Ron started.

"—A routine operation…" Hermione continued for him.

"You're a _surgeon_?" the cashier asked suddenly, with a look of awe directed intently in my direction.

"Uhhh… well, yes, actually. I'm… Dr. Harry…"

"—Jekyll," Hermione added quickly, casually flipping over one of the books on the counter so its back cover faced up. "His name's Dr. Harry Jekyll. You can look him up; he's quite famous."

"Blimey, really?" the cashier asked in admiration. I was pretty shocked at the girl's lack of general book knowledge. Even I know the story of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Maybe she just thought it was a coincidence. I don't know. (Hermione likes to defend herself here by saying there are countless people in this world with the last name Jekyll, and it was a perfectly legitimate name to use, so shut up and get on with it. Oh, sorry, not that last bit.)

"Yes, that's him. Dr. Harry Jenk—" Commence the very subtle but forceful 'correction kick in the shin' from Hermione. " —JEK-yll! Jekyll. Blimey, Hermione. Anyway, one day he was… op-urr-ate-ing on something…" Ron said.

"A baby elephant, to be exact," I interjected. "You know, those baby elephants that do the paintings and whatnot?"

"Could you possibly be referring to those precious, talented baby elephants, without whom the world would be a terrible place, Harry?"

"Too right you are, Ron. That's exactly the kind of baby elephant I was referring to."

"What was wrong with it?" the cashier asked, with a sort of sad-blubber in her lower lip.

"Cancer," Hermione immediately responded. "In his painting… trunk."

"Oh no! How awful!" the cashier wailed to us emotionally, looking from Hermione to myself in desperation. "What did you do?"

(Hermione would like to here note that quite a line was forming behind us and that the "insolent" little cashier should've been doing her job instead of staring at us with her mouth wide open. Ron would like to here note that Hermione was totally into the story- for WHATEVER purpose she may have, Merlin-, the cashier's mouth was not wide open, and he's 100% positive there wasn't anyone else in the bookstore at the time.)

"Well, the cancer had to be removed, of course," I replied in what I considered to be a manly, not-scared-of-anything tone. Now I had to think of some way to tie this into cords and sockets…

"Unfortunately, the anesthesia didn't work as well as it should have. The baby elephant weighed so much, you see, and Harry's used to operating on cute little monkeys and… puppies," Hermione stopped to let the cashier liberate a five-second 'Awww'. Hermione continued, "And every time Dr. Harry probed the poor thing's tumor, its little back foot twitched."

"Ah, yes, excellent idea to mention that, Hermione," Ron added lamely. He had been wondering how this story would connect as well.

"And one time I pushed the tumor a little _too_ hard…" I remarked.

"The _adorable_ baby's foot kicked backward—," Ron continued.

"—and knocked over the IV stand." Hermione concluded. Here is where I wondered, almost aloud (but I was muted by Hermione's ferocious glare. Sometimes I wonder if she can read minds), if IVs are even used on animals…

"The IV stand knocked over the heart monitor, which came unplugged. The plug swung up into the air – it was like slow motion," I emphasized the slow motion by waving my arm towards Ron's face slowly in the air like it was the cord. "But I was too slow to catch it, and it cut me right across the forehead." Ron feigned a frightened look and moaned "Nooooo!" slowly in a very deep voice when I moved my pinky in a lightning-bolt pattern over his forehead

"And now I have this scar to prove it." I finished, pointing to the real deal.

"And he even finished the surgery before stitching _himself_ up," Hermione added. I tried to look brave, like I could handle pain in the face of imminent danger if it meant the life of another being. Well… I guess I could do that. (Ron would like to add that I'm a show-off.)

"Wow, that's got to be the most incredible thing I've ever heard," remarked the cashier girl. "You must be so proud of your husband," she directed towards Hermione.

Ron immediately pushed me aside, draped his arm over Hermione's shoulders and said defensively, "_I'm_ her husband."

"Oh, I'm sorry," the girl apologized. She looked a little amused for a second, and then scrunched her eyebrows together and turned towards me. "Wait a minute… isn't it immoral or against some kind of animal rights thing to operate on an animal that isn't completely unaware?"

Hermione and Ron both looked towards me at the exact same time, like the two heads of Siamese twins. Ron cleared his throat awkwardly. I casually placed one hand behind my back and the other I rested on the girl's hand atop the counter.

"Trust me," I consoled her. "I'm a doctor."


	3. Chapter 2: Harry the Gymnast

**Chapter 2: Harry the Gymnast**

Ladies definitely appreciate a gymnast. Something about the big muscles and the ability to do several consecutive flips drives the female population mad. I'm not pretending to understand nor do I _think_ I'll ever understand. To men, however, a gymnast might seem a little… alternative. Either way, it is what it is. When I see an opportunity for messing around, you'd better believe that I would grab it. And trying to convince a Muggle that Harry Potter is a gymnast is, my dear friends, an opportunity for messing around if I ever encountered one.

So, thank Merlin, this time we weren't escorting Hermione to one of her many like-to-visit-often places. Instead, Harry and I were on our way to one of Ginny's Quidditch matches (Puddlemere United vs. Holyhead Harpies). Normally here I would insult Hermione's lack of Quidditch interest and/or knowledge, but she had a valid excuse for not coming this time. She was blasting chunks all over the place and didn't feel like her stomach could handle Apparating. With sickness comes laziness, that's what I always say. Hermione tells me to add, "With being Ronald Weasley comes slothfulness, gluttony, and making up ridiculous 'mottos' that make absolutely no sense".

Regardless, Harry's family and my own both live in a Muggle neighborhood. It's a bit annoying having to hide things around Muggles and sometimes _those_ situations can end up in a lot of laughter as well, but that's a whole other story.

The presence of Muggles requires us to walk a mile or so away from the neighborhood (farther if any of the old men are out for their 5 a.m. walks) and Apparate to the pitch. This day we happened to come across one of said old men.

Now let me just say that Harry and I are definitely adept when it comes to dressing like Muggles. I fail to see how the rest of the Wizarding world can't understand a few easy concepts like matching and avoiding excessive "layering" (Harry's word, not mine). But sometimes, usually when we're going to a Quidditch match, we like to go all out. I personally would not want to be on the other end of the broomstick if Ginny saw us show up to a match without any sort of supportive apparel on. Hermione just read that last line and sniggered, but I don't see what's funny…

Anyway, it doesn't help that Ginny plays for the Holyhead Harpies, which has probably the most ambiguous team mascot ever. Hermione has mentioned countless times that a harpy is some kind of ancient Greek spirit that stole food, but I have three problems with that. 1. Harpy and Harpie aren't even spelled the same, 2. That has nothing to do with Quidditch, and 3. THAT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH QUIDDITCH.

Oh, yeah, let's name our team after a food-snatching demon and put a picture of a talon on our robes since those things go together so well. What in the bloody hell?

Well, Harry and I left our houses decked out in dark green sweaters with golden bloody talons on the front. Harry chose to wear a rather feminine scarf with the words "Holyhead Harpies" sewn onto each end. I believe that scarf actually belongs to Ginny, but you didn't hear it from me.

So as we were casually strolling along, a very old, very wrinkly man on what I can only assume to be a brisk morning jaunt was walking towards us in the other direction. When he got close enough, he slowed, and after squinting towards Harry's girl scarf, he stopped completely. I could see it in his face- you know that look that just says, "I'm going to make conversation with you whether you like it or not"? Well, he had that look on.

"Oh bullocks," Harry grunted when he saw the man ahead, stopped and staring directly at us. He glanced down at Uncle Fabian's battered old watch. "We're nearly late. Ginny's going to murder me…"

"Aw, it'll be quick, mate," I replied half-heartedly, with a complimentary clap on the back. "Assuming he doesn't elaborate on the good old days, of course."

We reached the old man a couple seconds later. He smiled at us as we approached him.

"Well, hello there," he said, as he held out a hand and shook with both Harry and myself. I had to admit he had a sort of jolly, booming voice. It was comforting in that grandfather way. "Name's Marcus Deramey. I believe I've seen the two of you messing about in your front lawns? Not the best gardeners, you young folk. Looked like two chickens with their heads cut off."

Harry laughed and replied, "Well, yes, unfortunately that's true. We never did much yard work as kids." He glanced sideways at me. I immediately thought of pelting gnomes at the Burrow. "I'm Harry, this is Ron. We've only moved in recently. It's nice to finally meet someone from the neighborhood."

I uttered a polite, "Hello there," before the man began speaking again.

"Well, I just noticed your scarf as I was walking by." (Probably confused about why it was on a male body, I immediately thought). "I grew up in Holyhead, see. I don't remember any 'Harpies,' that's for sure." He scoffed a bit when he said, "Harpies," and I couldn't help but share the sentiment. Once and forever the worst team name.

"Ohhh, yes, well…" again Harry glanced at me. His eyes were pleading. I just shrugged. "They're fairly new."

"Are they? What sort of team is it?" the man questioned. I looked at Harry, awaiting what he'd say next, when his girly scarf motivated me beyond all comprehension. Ginny later commented that she is often shocked at my creative abilities. I swear, I'm always underestimated.

"It's a professional male gymnastics team!" I blurted out excitedly. Harry's head shot sideways to stare at me. He appeared to be positively horrified. I made a mental note to thank Hermione for rambling about various Muggle sports in which she'd participated.

"_Gymnastics?_" Marcus replied. "I didn't know men did such a thing."

"Mhmm… they sure do. And Harry here," I punched his shoulder in a "Proud Father" sort of way, "is one of those very men."

"I… well, you don't look very fit though? I thought gymnasts were muscular?" Mr. Deramey questioned. Harry felt the underlying insult and a little pucker of shame appeared suddenly on his lower lip, but it disappeared just as quickly.

"There are… weight classes. It's us skinnier gymnasts that do all the really high, manly flips over… over motorbikes and stacked up televisions… and the like," Harry stammered out.

"Flipping over motorbikes? That's positively ridiculous. Sports have really gone to the dogs, haven't they?" At this point I decided that had we actually been telling the truth, Marcus's comments were pretty insulting. I silently filed him away into the "grumpy old man whom you should never talk to" category of my brain. "Is that where you got that odd little scar?" he continued, gesturing toward Harry's forehead.

"Indeed, it is," I replied somberly. "Sometimes the big flips are just too much for little Harry and—"

"—And others get really jealous of my talent." Harry interrupted. "The scar came from a fight I got into with a gymnast from a weight class three… levels above mine. He became so outraged with jealousy that he cut me with a knife." Mr. Deramey looked near cardiac arrest at this point. "BUT I wrestled him to the ground with my bare hands." Harry finished dramatically.

What a showoff.

"And now they call him Harry Lightning-Bolt Potter." I concluded with a tone of conceit.

"Well, that's quite a curious sport you've involved yourself in, fellow," the old man commented.

"You're welcome to come watch sometime," I encouraged him. He smiled jubilantly, and for about two seconds we both thought he was going to agree.

"Certainly not," he responded.

And then he walked off with such a haughty step that even Harry's Uncle Fatmeister would be jealous.

Although Harry had to endure the annoying acrobatic flip-inducing charms Hermione and Ginny would laughingly place on him whenever Mr. Deramey or his wife walked past either of our houses, he also refused to buy me any sort of snack while we were at Ginny's match.

I lit what I thought was a fire of embarrassment, but it ended up burning me in the long run.

**Author's Note: **I hate putting these on chapters because I think it interrupts the story's flow, but oh well. Thank you so much for all the wonderful, positive feedback! That's so very kind of you all. I'm so sorry for the delay in posting. I've had a hectic couple of weeks. My freshman year in college is coming to a close! Look out for the next chapter soon. Maybe I'll even get it up within the next couple of days. Please let me know what you think so far : ).


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